


Mutterseelenallein

by jardinier



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: Other, ritsuko/misato if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 18:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14753880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jardinier/pseuds/jardinier
Summary: ELEKTRA: I am the shape you made me. Filth teaches filth.





	Mutterseelenallein

Her mother is beautiful- that much she can admit.

It’s an opinion, not a fact, but it might as well be, considering how often it’s brought up around or in relation to her. Ritsuko can’t talk to her grandmother once without having her compare her features to those of her mother.  _ Someday, you’ll be just as beautiful as her,  _ the old woman coos, running her fingers through the knots in Ritsuko’s hair.

Ritsuko isn’t sure if she’s glad to hear that or not.

Lately, Naoko Akagi has made it a habit to wear lipstick more often, even if she’s never been one for makeup. Ritsuko figures it has something to do with her age, but she can’t be sure- then again, it might also have something to do with her new-found tendency to stay out late.

Ritsuko isn’t too bothered by this: Naoko has always been distant, and she can always find refuge in her cats.

In fact, it’s those absences which bring her closer to her mother- it’s what maker her mother  _ need _ her. It’s Ritsuko she depends on to do the housework when she’s gone, after all, and as long as Ritsuko is needed, as long as she’s  _ desired _ , Ritsuko is fine.

Perhaps it’s not love, but it’s close enough, and she can live with that. 

  
  
  
  


Ritsuko experiences one of the many woes that come with womanhood for the first time and her mother is nowhere to be found. Knowing her, she’s probably out drinking or working overtime, but it’s alright: Ritsuko knows how to handle herself.

It’s the punishment inflicted on women by God caused by Eve’s sin, or so she’s heard, but she doesn’t quite buy it. To Ritsuko, that would mean that God is repulsed by how her body functions, that women are a curse, that man is more divine and equal to God, and she’s got no reason to believe that.

Either way, she can’t see why she should suffer through this: it’s not as though she wants to have children or anything. 

  
  
  
  


Naoko was never nurturing. Ritsuko could never remember being held or comforted by her mother, and in a similar vein, she could never remember being taught to be a woman by her either. Ritsuko was boyish in the way she dressed and behaved, from the way she walked to the way she talked, and Naoko seemed to encourage it. Every so often Ritsuko would quietly wonder to herself if Naoko disliked being a woman, deep down, if perhaps she thought women were weak. She never had the chance to ask. 

  
  
  
  


If there’s anything good Naoko has ever done for her, it’s bringing home a computer. 

Usually, her evenings were spent outdoors, climbing trees and dirtying the overalls she wore. Alone, of course: she could never quite seem to connect with other girls her age, and whatever friendships she did form always seemed to be hollow and empty of meaning. 

Then again, perhaps the problem was not with them but with herself. Yes, that must have been it: there was something about her that made her unacceptable and unlovable, if even her mother ignored her.

But the topic at hand was that of computers.

Ritsuko would watch in amazement as her mother’s fingers glided across the keyboard and conjured words on the screen as if she were some sort of witch. 

On one of the many evenings where Naoko was not home, curiosity gets the best of her and she decides to try it for herself, and Ritsuko has never felt more at peace. It’s almost as if her hands were  _ made _ for this very thing. Tac tac, click click. The sound is wonderful and welcoming.

Behind a screen, she doesn’t have to worry about other people or how she feels about them, doesn’t even have to think about her own feelings. She promises to herself to only use that computer when her mother isn’t home, but what good does that do her when Naoko is never home?

On the rare occasion that Naoko has some document to type up at home rather than at work, Ritsuko feels empty, anxious, and unsure of how to pass the time.

“Don’t you have boys to kiss or something?” her mother chuckles. It’s the type of chuckle one makes when making small talk with co-workers one has never spoken with before.

Ritsuko has never felt so alone and insignificant.

  
  
  
  


Sometimes, she feels contempt and jealousy towards those men her mother spends the evenings with, wishing it was  _ her _ she focused on and not  _ them _ . No matter how many men she brings home, Naoko never seems happy. Perhaps she’d be happier spending time with Ritsuko instead, if the two of them were to try.

She has to remind herself that her feelings aren’t too important and are more bothersome than anything, so she instead focuses on the screen in front of her.

  
  
  
  


She knows what Gendo Ikari’s words towards her will be even before her mother introduces the two of them. Somehow, when it’s from other people, she doesn’t care, but from him, the words feel almost like a bullet through the spine.

  
  
  
  


Misato’s touch is foreign and makes her feel strange in a good way. For the first time, there’s someone to hold and comfort her when she feels pain. Ritsuko thinks that to Misato, gestures of affection might mean nothing, social butterfly as she may be, but to Ritsuko, it means more than she’s willing to admit.

Misato accepts her for who she is, never brings up her mother in relation to her like others do, and Ritsuko is thankful. The two eat lunch together, walk together, study together, and all is fine, because they’re  _ together _ . It’s something Ritsuko could get used to.

Ritsuko nestles in Misato’s arms sometimes; she’s never understood how her mother can find refuge in a body that isn’t her own, but it’s now that she can see why, a little. Above all, Ritsuko does not want to be alone. Maybe Naoko didn’t want to either.

Misato is real with her- Misato can tell her when she’s wrong. Naoko always praised her, nodded along with everything she said, so long as Ritsuko left her alone. 

(Ritsuko attempted to become the poster image for 'rebellion’ at some point during her teenage years in an attempt to get her mother to notice her, though that didn't work out very well. She’d have been glad if her mother hit her, yelled at her, showed that she cared, but unsurprisingly, she never did.)

Misato, in contrast, calls her stupid and slaps her over what they could both consider petty arguments, and though Ritsuko has to deal with the silent treatment from her for a week afterwards, at least she knows Misato cares, even if she never outright says it. 

Kaji Ryouji comes into the picture and Misato’s attention is focused elsewhere. Ritsuko almost feels jealous, but she’s reminded that her academics come first anyway. Once again, her only comfort is the computer monitor in her dorm room, and this time, she doesn’t have to share.

Romantic relationships do come before platonic ones. Her mother has taught her such before.

  
  
  
  


Naoko Akagi is dead. At her funeral, Gendo Ikari approaches Ritsuko not to give her his condolences, but rather to offer her mother’s position to her.

Ritsuko Akagi is needed, Ritsuko Akagi is desired, and that’s good enough. She refuses to make the same mistakes her mother did, vows to outdo her in everything she ever did while alive.

_ I must not be like her _ , she thinks, waiting for the hair dye to finish setting in. 

Ritsuko Akagi has made it a habit to wear lipstick more often, even if she’s never been one for makeup. She’s heard that Gendo is fond of red.

**Author's Note:**

> Vent write of sorts. Based off an article on lesbianism I thought fit Ritsuko well. The title is a German word for loneliness, but it literally means 'mother soul alone', which I thought was pretty cool


End file.
